How Can I Help You Say Goodbye?
by blackbeltchic
Summary: Buffy's been feeling off for awhile, and then one day she finds out her symptoms all add up to something more....can she and Angel have a chance at a life together, or is it too late?
1. Part One

Title: How Can I help You Say Goodbye?

Author: blackbeltchic

Disclaimer: The characters are not mine. I am just borrowing them for some heartache and misery, some fluff along the way, and sadly, more heartache.

Spoilers: Some references to The Girl In Question.

Rating: PG13, for maybe some language, and content.

Summary: Buffy isn't feeling well, and it's worse than she could ever imagine.

WARNING: This story is not my usual angst, then fluff. Though a Buffy/Angel story, there is incredible heartache, and possibly character death.

Author's notes: this is my first ever full length First Person Point of View story, and it's not the happiest story. When a person with a heart of stone cries at the end of her own story, you know there's more than the average angst there. If you are a weeper, unless you want a good cry, I would advise you not to read this story. If you decide to anyway, you might want some tissues.

Feedback: Please, I need something to cheer me up after reading this story.

It all started the summer after Angel and Spike came to visit, and my uneventful date with the Immortal, though I didn't know until later that they had been there, or who he really was.

I believe it was the second week in June, when I first woke up in the middle of the night, my sheets soaked with sweat. It had happened a couple times before in all my years as the slayer, after a particular nasty dream, though I couldn't remember any such dream. I just moved over to the other half of my full sized bed and went back to sleep. I'd change the sheets in the morning.

The next morning, during my shower, I found bruises along my legs and hips I didn't remember ever acquiring, but bruises never last long on me. They were still there when I went to bed, but I thought I must have hit something a bit harder than usual. I thought nothing of it.

A week later, I awoke with a sore throat, and the lymph nodes just under my neck were swollen. I hadn't had strep throat since I was thirteen, bit it didn't really feel like strep. I had been at a club the night before, and though it didn't explain the swollen nodes, I just chocked it up to a bit too much partying.

A week after that, I went to my gynecologist with what ended up being nothing but a particularly nasty yeast infection. I had never had one before, and it hurt like hell. But she didn't say anything, and I didn't tell her about the night sweats, bruises, or nasty headaches. There was no need; they were all seemingly regular occurrences, though they didn't happen so frequently, and they all had seemingly plausible explanations.

It wasn't until that first week of July, when I was making lunch that I knew something was really wrong. I started trembling, and I dropped the glass pitcher I had been holding. It was expensive, and I was saddened to see it go. I finally got my muscles under control, and started to clean up the mess. But while cleaning up, I slipped on the wet tile, and fell, cutting myself on my arms, hips and back on the five or six large, sharp pieces of glass.

Andrew found me ten minutes later, sitting on the floor in a puddle of blood and iced tea, shaking uncontrollably from shock, fear and blood loss. They just wouldn't stop bleeding, and I didn't have enough hands to put pressure on them all, at least one was close to an artery. I also think I had pulled something in my back.

Safe to say, he called an ambulance. I had lost so much blood, and Andrew can't stand the sight of blood anyway, it makes him queasy. I remember telling him, as they took me out, "Don't tell my friends. It's nothing." How could I have known all my symptoms added up? How could I have known?


	2. Part Two

How Can I Help You Say Goodbye?

Part Two

Disclaimer: see first chapter.

Author's Notes: I want people to know, that where this story is going, I'm not an expert. I did a project on…well, that would be telling, but I'm no expert, I've never been through what I'm forcing these characters through, and I'm not a doctor. If this offends anyone, then I'm incredibly sorry. I mean no disrespect for anyone that has gone through this, it's just I read a lot of Lurlene McDaniel's…and people who read those know where I might be going…I'll leave it there.

Thanks to all of the reviewers, six for the first chapter is really good for me! Thanks to Buff, anj4eva091403, dalmatiangrl2, General Mac, Queen Boadicea, and Charmed-angel4 for reviewing!

Generally I answer questions now, but they're all the same, and that would be telling, now wouldn't it? But yes, Queen Boadicea, Angel won't come in until at least next chapter. The whole story (already written, just spacing out my posting dates) is 17 pages long, not formatted for , so it's way too long to post the way it is, but there's no good end points. Heartache and BA goes hand in hand, and they do in this story too, but it's different. It just is…I can't give it away. You'll understand some of it in this chapter, I think…

And who hates me for that stopping point? Raise those hands! Come on! I'm evil! You'll be cursing me by the time this is over. Trust me. And there will be places where you think there are tense issues, but it's all explained…

After sterilizing and wrapping my still seeping cuts, they admitted me, deciding I had in fact pulled one of the muscles in my lower back. That's when I met Dr. Welch. They had, of course, upon entry, asked of any unusual symptoms, and I grudgingly told them about the headaches and night sweats. She did a physical exam, since I hadn't had one in God knows how long, and she found that I not only had abdominal discomfort, but my lymph nodes hadn't unswelled, now the ones in my pelvis, armpits, and stomach were all swollen. She decided it would be best to run some blood tests, and I was in just the mood to tell her I'd already lost enough blood, why didn't she go get it from my kitchen floor? Tea wouldn't change the tests any, would it?

It's no lie to say that I was kinda tweaking. I've always hated hospitals, and after three hours of being poked and prodded, I was sick and tired of it all. Finally, she talked the blood out of me, but I balked when she started talking about a bone marrow biopsy. I had watched enough Lifetime to know exactly what that was, and there was no way in hell they were sticking a needle into my hip bone, and removing some of the bone itself. No way.

So they had to settle for the blood. By this time, Andrew must have decided that Dawn didn't count as a friend. Not that he knew that she wasn't just my sister; she was so much more. More than I could ever describe.

That's the only way she could have showed up two days later, the same day my blood results came back. Of course, they still had me confined to that damn hospital bed for most of those two days, since my back muscle didn't seem to be doing anything that could resemble getting better.

Of course, this was also the day I had decided that no matter what, they couldn't keep me against my will, and I was going home. It was probably trashed, with Andrew all alone. If I found any porn on the living room floor, there were going to be consequences!

Dawn came in, to find me packing, and then the doctor came in a few minutes later, with my test results. I thought blood tests were the kind that couldn't be flunked, but I guess I was wrong. At least that's the jist I got, from the doctor, and the look on her face.

Of course, my pre-vet sister had to understand every word she said, or most of them, and she turned three shades paler. Then she asked to speak to the doctor outside, like I was some kid that needed the truth kept from me. I should have thought about it a bit more, but by that time, almost all my things were ready to go, and I was going home.

Well, the doctor, whatever she said, convinced Dawn that I had to have the bone marrow biopsy. I was still against it. My hips were very important, if they did something to them, I might not be able to kick as well as I used to. And kicking was important, I needed my legs to be able to defend myself, and sometimes I had to act as bait, and my legs helped me there too. But they ganged up on my, Dawn and the doctor, and managed to convince me, and I had one scheduled for two days later, after I checked myself out. After all, I had a weasel to kill, and after a few days of not patrolling, the outlook of violence was making me feel a whole lot better.

Dawn wanted me to take it easy until my biopsy, but I blew her off. Andrew was, of course, hiding, and so instead of getting some of my pent up energy out, I got to have a fight with my sister.

Finally, she dropped the bomb, the reason why she had gone out and talked with the doctor.

"Buffy, they think you have cancer."

I just stared at her for a second, "Impossible," I said after a pause, "I'm the slayer. I-I can't have cancer. It's all some stupid mistake."

"The night sweats, infections, lethargy, unexplained bruises, all symptoms. Of cancer."

"Dawn, you're not getting it. I'm the slayer. There's no way."

"How do you know?"

"Because there isn't. I'll actually go for the biopsy, ok? Happy?"

She shook her head, close to tears, "I can't lose you, not again."

"You won't. I don't have cancer."

But I was nervous, nonetheless, when I went in for the biopsy. They drugged me, and told me to count backwards from 100. Next thing I knew, I was in recovery, with a huge bandage on my left hip, which was sore, and I had a hangover from the anesthesia. I was released later that day, but I couldn't drive, with the aftereffects of the anesthesia in my system, so Dawn came and picked me up. I felt so helpless, sitting in the passenger side, while my little sister drove me home. I also felt like the world was pressing down upon me, and suddenly the city that I had chosen for all of it's hustle and bustle seemed to be choking me, and I just wanted to get away.


	3. Part Three

How Can I Help You Say Goodbye?

Part Three

Disclaimer: see the first chapter.

Author's notes: I'm soft, I couldn't leave you guys wondering, and though only running on two hours of sleep, I'm past tired, and don't want to sleep, so here's the next chapter, of a good length. And this chapter, after what I said, is just gonna confuse you, lol!

A week later when the doctor called, I still hadn't convinced Dawn to go back to college. She said her professors would understand, and I had been there for her and Mom when Mom was sick, so now she would be there for me. We went in to talk with the doctor, and he gave me my results. Adult Leukemia. A disease where only half mature white blood cells go on a rampage, mass producing, until there's a major problem. My immune system was weak, that's why I had gotten the yeast infection, and the sore throat. There's no cure, but there are treatments. After a lengthy discussion with an oncologist, a cancer specialist, who would be taking over my case, and a lot of research online, I opted for chemotherapy first.

Two weeks later, after being admitted yet again, before going down for my first treatment, I told Dawn, "Don't, under any circumstances, tell Angel." She just nodded, tears in her eyes as they took me away.

The treatment room was kind of nice, in an impersonal way. I had opted for intravenous chemotherapy, so they had had knocked me out the day before, putting a catheter right near my collar bone, so they didn't have to keep sticking me with needles.

The doctor came, and got me settled into the chair, asked if I wanted a magazine or anything. I was getting kind of frustrated, not to mention scared. Though I had something seriously wrong with me, I wasn't sick yet. I didn't need the wheelchair they had brought me down in, or the special treatment. I just wanted to get treated, get better, and go home. I finally decided on an old YM magazine, after learning it could take up to three hours. Then the doctor came out of this little cubicle, with a clear IV bag. He hooked it up to the stand I had missed seeing altogether, and hooked it up to my catheter. He set the drip rate, told me to just holler if I needed him, and went back into the little cubicle.

The first hour or so wasn't that bad. After I had finished the magazine, I closed my eyes and sat back, imagining an army of slayers going through my blood and killing off all the demonic white blood cells, that looked a lot like Ubervamps. Yucky picture, but I had read somewhere that imagining made the healing process faster. My army was purging my body for the third time, when I got the first urge. My eyes shot open as I gagged. I placed a hand over my mouth, and before I knew it, the doctor was by my side, holding a basin in my lap, and a hand on my back. I gagged again, and up came my breakfast. Again and again I threw up, until it was just dry heaves. Part of the time I cried, I hated throwing up and being sick more than anything, even hospitals.

The doctor washed out the basin in a heavy-duty stainless steel sink across the room, and brought me a paper cup of water. He wiped my forehead as I drank, and I couldn't help but try to croak a thank you, even though I knew it was his job. His hands and voice had been gentle the whole time I had been sick; I couldn't understand how someone could do this day after day, without becoming emotionless.

I asked him, and he chuckled, telling me the hardest patients were the children. Some as young as five or six, puking their guts out for all they were worth. The worst thing were repeats, he said, the ones that came out of remission, some times as many as two or three times. With the new drugs always coming out, they tried again, but chemotherapy, after the first time, the cancer becomes harder to kill.

Before I knew it, the nurse had come to take me back up to my room, and my bag of chemotherapy was empty. He unhooked the catheter, with calloused, but kind hands, and they settled me back into the wheelchair. This time I made no qualms about the treatment. I just wanted to go home and sleep.

But I couldn't go home. Because I lived so far away from the treatment center, I was an 'in patient.' Dawn had made some joke about it being fashionable to be a patient, but now I was in no mood to laugh over the joke. This wasn't fashionable, and it wasn't any fun, either.

Dawn was waiting for me, when we got back, and I could tell she had been crying. After the nurse had helped me back into bed, Dawn climbed up with me, something she hadn't done in years. I held her to me as she cried, trying not to bitch at her. She had no reason to cry, I was the one sick, I was the one dying.

Suddenly, everything hit me like a ton of bricks, or a bowling ball. I was dying, again. And this time, there was no magic to bring me back, and no amount of CPR could save me, if the drugs didn't. I dug my nose into Dawn's hair, and cried.

We were awoken by the rattle of the food cart. My eyes felt scratchy and my eyelids swollen, and Dawn looked like she felt the same. I forced a laugh as I wiped the remaining moisture from her face.

She scrambled from the bed with the nurse glaring at her, but with a soft smile. I sat up as she placed the tray on the table, swinging it over my lap. I was happy to see a meal, after not eating since breakfast.

After the nurse had left to deliver food to other patients, Dawn pulled off the covers, and the smell of food hit me. Instead of enticing me, the smell nauseated me. I leaned back, trying to get away from the smell.

Dawn tried to entice me to eat, loading up a forkful of mashed potatoes, but I pushed her away. She tried again, and this time I couldn't hold it. I pushed the table aside, leaping from the bed, and rushed towards the bathroom.

When I came out, the offending tray was gone.

"Sorry about that. I didn't know."

"Don't worry, Dawn, no harm, no foul," I said, climbing back into bed. For a minute, I hated myself for sticking up for her. She was an adult, and she needed to take responsibility for her actions. But she always brought out the sister in me, and I had to make things better. I hated that I had to, but I did.

I grabbed the remote from the bedside table, "I wonder what's on TV?" And the episode was forgotten, or at least shoved to the side.

The next morning was more of the same. I picked at my breakfast; this time I wasn't too hungry, the day before I had been too nervous. I felt so lethargic, I would have been scared, if it wasn't one of the side effects they had warned me about. At nine, they took be back down to Chemo, and brought me back just before lunch. This time, Dawn and Willow were there to greet me, and what a greeting I gave my long time best friend; I puked all over the floor. I spent the next couple hours throwing up, sometimes in the bathroom, if I could make it that far, and sometimes into the basin that had been procured. The nurse assured me that they just had to get the dosage of the other drugs they were going to put me on right, and that would stop the puking, but in the meanwhile, I had nothing else to do.

Days turned into weeks, all with the same routine. The third week of chemo, the last before I took a one-week respite to find some of the weight I'd lost, I found some of my blond hair on my pillow when I woke up. It came out in clumps as I brushed my hair that morning, and for the next three. I cried over every single strand. It sounds so materialistic, but with everything that had happened thus far…I had been warned, but like all things, I never thought it would happen to me, and the inner Spring Fling Princess inside me was crying for the loss of my beauty.


	4. Part Four

How Can I Help You Say Goodbye?

Part Four

Disclaimer: see the first chapter.

Reader Reviews:

It doesn't seem like I've done real reader responses yet, though most reviews I don't need to. I would like to thank everyone for reviewing, and I want to thank Buff, M, Queen Boadicea, and Sarah for reviewing the last chapter.

And some answers will be brought to light in this chapter…

After most of my hair fell out, I cropped the remaining bits to short, half-inch fuzz. I started wearing a bandanna to cover my essentially bald head.

I began noticing other changes, too. My face was thin, too thin, and way too gaunt. I had huge hollows under my eyes, and I was afraid I'd never be pretty again. When I showered, I could see and count the majority of my ribs, and what little breasts I had once had were gone, thanks to my lack of eating habits.

During my week long respite, when Dawn, Willow, Giles, Xander, or even Andrew weren't visiting, they never stayed long, I found myself on the floor below mine, in the Children's Oncology wing. Souls as young as five or six stared out at me from old faces, most bald, or losing their hair.

I found myself reading to the kids on a regular basis. Many couldn't read, either because they had never learned, of they had missed those months in school. And some of the older kids would listen, though inconspicuously, maybe going back to a time when their mothers would read to them, and they weren't bald, weren't sick, weren't dying. I know I was back in a time when I wasn't the slayer, and my sister was just that, not a mystical force, and I'd read to her before bed every night, because Mom and Dad were too busy.

And then I met some of the older teens, after the younger kids went for naps, and we'd play Monopoly, and I introduced them to Anywhere But Here. They came up with some of the most gorgeous scenes; one girl dreamed of the small brook near her childhood home, with the sun filtering through the leaves and the brook babbling nonsense to her and her once best friend.

On the Saturday of my break, just two more days until I started chemo again, I came back to my room after reading Amilee to sleep, in the too big bed and too white sheets, to find the most surprising visitor. I didn't sense him, though now I understand why, and he took me by complete surprise.

He stood in the middle of my room, awkwardly holding a bouquet of tulips.

"I, uh…these are for you." He handed me the flowers. I set them on my bedside table. My roommate had been released earlier that week, sadly, to die at home, but then I almost wished to prolong her suffering, so I didn't have to be alone with him.

"Who told you?"

"I went to your apartment, and uh, Andrew told me where I could find you, but he didn't say why." I now realized my folly, telling my sister not to tell him, and Andrew not to tell my friends. I can't win, can I?

I pushed past him, nudging a chair in his direction as I climbed into bed, "I hope you don't mind," I said as I sat cross-legged, "The meds they have me on make me tired a lot."

"Buffy-"

"Angel, I'm dying." I thought that I could get through the telling without tears, I was dehydrated enough as it was, but as I told him how I had ended up here, the tears came again.

He tried to hold me, but I pushed him away, not wanting him to feel my rough, dry skin. "I don't need your pity, Angel."

"I wouldn't dream of pitying you. If anything, you are more courageous now, dealing with all this, than I have ever seen you."

"Well, you haven't seen me in a long time. I don't remember you being there for the biggest battles."

"Buffy-"

"Stop trying to make it better! Yeah, the doctors say there's an 85 chance that I'll make it to remission, and a 15 chance that I could stay in remission for the five years to be considered cured, but it'll only fail in the end. _I_ feel my body slowly dying. The chemo that's fighting for my life, to save it, is killing me. There's even talk of putting me on prednizone after this, if the chemo doesn't work, which will eat away at my liver, or kidney, or one of those I can't remember which. They're talking about what to do next, if the chemo doesn't work, Angel!"

I sighed, "I'm really tired, I overexerted myself today."

He got the hint immediately, "I'll be back tomorrow," he promised.

"I'll be here," I said wearily, settling down as if to sleep. But after he left, sleep wouldn't come, not for a long time. But the pain of seeing him again, and not letting him hold me, having him see me at my worst, and the anguish, and the misery, foul weather friends they are. They found me there, alone in my bed, and brought along their friends, tears, for the party.

If he came by that Sunday, he swears he did, I didn't see him. I was up at first light, unable to sleep, so I went down to the playroom. Carlos, a seven and a half year old who had become enamored with me, was to start back on chemo that day, and so I held his basin for him after he got back, rubbing his back until he fell into an exhausted sleep. Then Amilee and Jake wanted me to read some more of Mrs. Piggle Wiggle, one of my childhood favorites, with her strange cures. If only she could fin a cure for all these children. Then it was naptime, and Ricky and Beth and I got in a solid hour of Monopoly. Ricky won, again. Then it was craft time. I can't remember what they ended up making, but Carlos, with his basin always nearby, drew me his Teddy Bear Army. The leader wore a pink bandana like the one I wore, her sword dripping green blood.

As they drew, and cut, and glued, I watched them, and for the first time, I allowed myself to notice the things that marked them as sick. More often that not, these children were small for their age, due to the chemo. They were bald, and many carried around IV stands, careful to not get their wires tangled. They did so with a precision, I was sure they were used to it, and this wasn't their first time on the drugs. Some had red rashes on their chests, from the radiology, the second step for many on this trip we all were on. None seemed to notice the others bald heads, or the IV stands. They treated each other like normal kids, racing each other around the room, seeing who could build the biggest building.

Then it was suppertime, and I helped the nurses coax the kids into eating. Some of the healthier ones, either the ones who had just come in, or those that were getting ready to leave, ate at the table in the play room, and I joined them. Then it was clean up time, and then bed.

"The kids are going to miss you once you go back on chemo, and can't be here all day," Carla, the nurse in charge of the playroom told me. "They've all fallen in love with you, and you give them the attention us nurses can't always give them. Go on to bed now, dear. You need your rest, it's been a long day, and tomorrow will be longer."


	5. Part Five

How Can I Help You Say Goodbye?

Part Six

Disclaimer: see the first chapter.

Author's notes: I'm sorry for such a long wait. This is all written, but I'm trying to drag it out, so I can at least give some updates to readers, whether or not it's on my other stories lol. I've been fluey these past two weeks or so, and I'm sorry I didn't update in my time here at home from school!

Reader reviews:

Queen Boadicea: wow…you really think I'm a gifted writer…all this praise is going to go to my head, lol…Thanks so much for your review.

Charmed-angel4: thanks for your review, but as for the topic you brought up, if I said anything, that would be telling…

Thanks also to Buff, here's your update!

The next morning I started chemo again. It was the worst I'd ever had it. It wasn't a half hour before I started throwing up, and they almost couldn't take me back to my room afterwards because of my excessive vomiting.

Angel was there when they finally got me to my room. I was so weak I didn't realize he was there until after they had helped me into bed. He sat down in the chair beside my bed, and if I had had the energy, I would have turned away. As it was, I could barely move my head.

He was about to talk, when I started gagging. "Basin," I croaked, and he grabbed one from my bedside table, helping me sit up. I expected him to leave, but he stayed with me, rubbing my back as I hurled. Once I was through, he helped me lay back down, leaving me with my extra basin, while he went into the bathroom to clean up. He came back out with a wet paper towel and gently wiped my face. He poured me a glass of water, helping me sit up, and held the basin so I could rinse my mouth. Then he poured another cup, which I drank thirstily. Then he washed out the basin again, and sat down beside me.

"Feeling any better?"

"You shouldn't be here. I-I look like shit, and smell like vomit."

"I hardly noticed," he said softly, smoothing a piece of my lank hair off my face. I flinched at his touch.

I snorted, "Why are you here?"

"I came to tell you something, and to ask your forgiveness, but this isn't the time."

"No time like the bett- Oh God-" he helped me up again, as I threw up the remaining contents of my stomach, including the water I had just drank.

"You should have to do this," I croaked once I was able, and he had come back from washing out the basin.

"You're no the first sick person I've seen, Buffy."

"Still…you should be saving the world, or something, not playing nursemaid to a sick slayer."

"But I did that. I came to tell you about a prophecy, a prophecy about an ensouled vampire, about this vampire playing the main role in an apocalypse, and when this vampire stopped the apocalypse, he'd be free of his destiny, of his crimes. He'd be forgiven, and returned back to the earth as a mortal, to live out the mortal life denied him, and to die a mortal death."

"What are you telling me?"

"I'm human, just like you," he stroked my cheek again, and I was too shocked to flinch away.

"Please don't do this to me. Don't fall in love with me again."

"It's too late for that."

"It's too late for us. You deserve bet-" he placed a finger to my cracked lips.

"No, I don't. And it's not too late, not if we try."

He somehow managed to stay past visiting hours. After the dinner I couldn't eat, I made him wheel me down to Carlos's room. There I apologized for not coming to read to him that afternoon. He said it was ok, telling me we had the cancer on the run, and he might be going home in a month. I gave him my best smile, and hugged him.

"This is you," he said, handing me a picture of two blobs standing over another dead blob, "and this is me, and this is the cancer. We're going to beat it," he smiled. I always want to remember his hopeful smile.

Within the next few weeks, I took a turn for the worse. Any food within a ten-food radius made me sick, and I went days without being able to eat at a time.

Angel was there through it all. If I woke up dry, or not so dry, heaving in the middle of the night, his gentle hands were there to help me sit up and to clean up afterwards. One the occasions where the basin wasn't near enough at hand, he held me in his arms while one of the night nurses changed my sheets. If I ever woke up with horrible nightmares, he was there to soothe me back to sleep. He became so much more than the man I loved, he became my guardian angel.

And during the blessed times I wasn't vomiting, but was too weak to do anything else, he told me stories of his early childhood, and I learned of his sister Kathy. Sometimes he'd lift me out of bed and take me down to the children's playroom, where I got to watch the kids I had begun to wish were mine play. And he took up my habit of reading to them, Amilee on his lap, and Carlos on mine. He didn't show that he noticed their ugly bald heads, or their emaciated frames. He treated them like average kids, which is what they wanted. Only the pain in his eyes told me he saw them for what they really were, the pain he could hide from everyone but the person who knew him best.

One night, things got so bad, I felt as if my stomach or lung was going to come up with the stomach acid that burned my throat and the blood. It was the blood that scared me the most. I had been put on an IV to feed me a couple days before, and I just couldn't stop puking.

What happened next, I don't remember, but I woke up in Intensive Care a week later, hooked up to so many machines, and Angel crying over my limp hand he held so tightly in his own, like his grip on my fingers would keep me in this world. He was muttering, at first I thought incoherently, but then I realized he was praying.

"…Hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done. On earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive our trespassers. Do not lead us into temptation, but deliver us from the Evil One. For Thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever.

"Please, Dear Lord, don't take her from me. I was given my life to live as I choose, but without her there is not life on this earth I want to live. She is my Eve, the one made from me, the only one for me. I need her to be complete. Please, dear Lord, bring her back to me. I have nothing to give you in return for her life but my own, but I'd gladly give it, if she makes it through.

"I love her so much. Dear Lord, don't take her from me!" he broke down completely, resting his defeated head on the side of my bed.

I tried to move my left arm to comfort him, but it was tied down with IV wires.

"I love you too," I whispered, hoping the words were intelligible, suddenly finding a breathing tube down my throat.

His head shot up at my words, and he started crying harder, "Oh, Buffy! Y-Your lungs collapsed, and your heart stopped, and your veins kept collapsing so they couldn't get fluid into you. We were all so worried, and I thought I'd never see you again, or hold you again, or tell you that I loved you, ever again."

Tears and snot ran down his face. His hair was clearly unwashed, and he had huge circles under his eyes, like he hadn't slept that whole week. He was also thinner than I remembered, but he never looked so handsome to me.

"You didn't listen to me," I croaked, "I told you not to fall in love with me again. I should have given myself the same advice. All along, I kept telling myself I didn't care if you loved me or not, but I do. I care so much that at times the hoping was worse that the chemo, and being bald, and throwing up."

"I love you, I've always loved you, and I always will."

They kept me in ICU for two more nights, but whatever had sent me there, it was obvious I was out of the woods. The next bone marrow aspiration they took showed an increase of healthy white blood cells, though it was low, and a decrease in cancerous ones. They said, cautiously, that after two more rounds of chemo should do it, though I wasn't supposed to get my hopes up.

It was now September, and things were looking up. I hadn't had a period since June, another side effect of the chemo, as well as loss of fertility. I hadn't mourned the loss until then, when I could see the light at the end of the tunnel, and it wasn't a train, it was a gorgeous day out there.

With minor setbacks, I was released on the first of December. It was what I had hoped would be my last ride in a wheelchair. Angel pushed me out to the car, his car, a nurse behind us to take the chair back. Once we were both in the car, and the nurse was gone, Angel turned to me and kissed me, the first time since Sunnydale.

"I've wanted to do that for the longest time, but I didn't think it appropriate.

"Oh well," I sighed, smiling, as he leaned in to kiss me again.

He finally started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. I was on cloud nine, I was with the man I wanted most in the world, and I had reached my goal, remission. But he turned the wrong way out of the hospital parking lot.

"I know I haven't seen the light of day in months, but I do know my way home, and this isn't it."

"Every road leads to where you want to go," he said cryptically, giving me a smile. He twined his fingers in mine in my lap, and I had to smile at him, though I knew it would take a whole lot more to erase the past months of pain from my eyes.

But Angel had it all covered. He stopped outside a small, one story villa near a river. He rushed around to open my door for me, and put his arm around my shoulders, as he led me towards the house.

"Angel-" I stopped, confused.

"Do you trust me?" he asked.

"Yes." I let him steer me up the walk. He pulled a key out of his pocket as we stood in front of the door, "I know it's a bit soon, and I can't expect you to welcome me back into your life with open arms, but I had to show you. There's no furniture, but we can fix that." He led me through the house, one room more beautiful than the one before.

"What do you think?"

"I-It's gorgeous!"

"Then it's ours."

I suddenly forgot how to breath, "Angel," I gasped.

"I know it's all of a sudden, and I know you're not completely better, and I don't want to sound cliché or corny, but I stood by you through the worst of times, and now I would really like to make some good times with you."

He got down on his knees, "I know you might refuse me, but I have to ask. Will you, someday, hopefully soon, marry me?"

Tears streamed down my face, "I can't have kids, Angel, there's no guarantee."

"That doesn't matter to me," he said gently.

"Like hell it doesn't. I heard how you talked about your sister, and I saw the way you acted with the kids. Having an heir, leaving a legacy, it's in you, whether you want it to be or not."

"Yes, I was taught at a young age that a family was supposed to be the most important thing in my life," he said, getting off his knees, putting his arms around my shoulders, "and I've killed more families than I care to share, Buffy.

"I figured it out, Buffy. You may not know it, but I'm a religious man. Even after all I've been through and seen throws religion out the window. Even after all the sinning I did in life, I cling. I was turned into a vampire that night because it would be 200 years and change before I would meet my soul mate.

"I wasn't the best man in life, Buffy. I'm not going to hide it from you, I fucked more women than I care admit, but only once have I made love, and that was to the only woman I've ever loved.

"Once upon a time, kids did matter to me. But after all you've been through. Just being able to hold you each night will be enough for me."

"When you put it like that," I gave him a watery smile, "Of course I'll marry you." He hissed me passionately. I ran my hands up under his shirt as he played with the hem of mine.

"If I felt you were up to it, if I thought you were ready, I'd ravage you, right here and now," he murmured against my lips.

"How do you know I'm not? I haven't had sex since Sunnydale, and I don't think I've ever been ravaged," I said, my voice husky.

He pulled back, "You haven't? Not since- not even with the Immortal?" there was relief in his eyes.

That brought up questions, like who was this Immortal, and how did he know. We never got to the ravaging, but there would be time for that later. Not all the time in the world, time was shorter than either of us envisioned, but there was time.


	6. Part Six

How Can I Help You Say Goodbye

Part Six

Disclaimer: see first chapter.

Author's notes: sorry for the long wait, I've been real busy trying to get my websites back on track! I'm going away for a week next Wednesday (Feb 16th, 2005) but I'll try to get another update before that!

That's right, this nightmare isn't over yet!

Leukemia took from me more than just my health, and my ability to bear the man I love's children. It also took away my stamina, my strength, and all the things that made me a slayer were gone forever. I knew that Angel was relieved once we learned that, but I wasn't. It was just one more thing that had been stolen from me, one thing I'd never get back, and I couldn't help but hate the cancer that had stolen so much from me.

Within a week, we got furniture. The first thing we got was a bed, and we made good use of it. We decided on a short, quick wedding, with only my friends and his there. We planned it for Christmas Eve, and found a minister who wasn't going to be conducting midnight mass to perform the ceremony. My gown was rather plain, and I had to wear a wig, since my hair still hadn't started to grow back. Angel had said he didn't care, he kind of liked my bald head, but I did. I knew that whether I made it through this or not, those wedding pictures might be the only things he had left of me.

Our gift to each other was total abandon of our bodies. Though we had fooled around, I had wanted to make our wedding night special, and I know it was. We didn't go on a honeymoon, but we didn't get out of bed for three days after our wedding, only to get food that we ate right there, crumbs be damned.

But then we had to join the real world. With all the money Angel had saved, or gained during his time as a vampire, he still had to get a job to help pay for my hospitalization and treatments. He wouldn't let me get a job, though. He told me to stay at home, just work on regaining my strength, and gain some weight back. I know he was so afraid of breaking me whenever we made love. He was always like that, always looking out for me, always putting himself second.

I still had treatments I had to get, as an outpatient this time. Every six weeks, I had to go in for a spinal tap, and a dose of chemo to make sure the cancer wasn't coming back. The spinal tap was the worst, I had to lay perfectly still, curled in a ball for over an hour so I didn't get a headache, but I still did, no matter how long I waited. Then the chemo, which didn't make me as sick as it used to, I guess I got used to it. And then I'd spend about an hour up in the children's playroom. Everyone that had been there when I was had gone home, but Carlos was back again, the cancer had come back, and they hadn't caught it in time, and it wasn't reacting to the chemo, or the radiation. His only chance was a bone marrow transplant, but as he waited for a match, he was fading away.

I learned five months after my release that he had died at home, surrounded by his family.

Amilee was doing great. I never actually saw her, but the nurses kept me up to date. She finally got to go to kindergarten, though she had joined in the middle of the year and would have to repeat the grade.

I saw Beth on a regular basis; after she got out, she came back against her mother's wishes to volunteer in the children's ward. The nurses said that she was a great help; she always knew just what to say to put the kids at ease.

I thought about volunteering, but Angel didn't want me to. His old roots were showing through, wanting me to be a housewife. I had to explain to him that I couldn't be a housewife because it would drive me crazy.

About a month after our wedding, my hair started to grow back. I woke up one morning to Angel stroking my head; he was so excited that it was coming back. He told me that my hair was one of his favorite features. Of course then I had to ask that it wasn't my breasts that never really came back, and then he started tickling me.

Our marriage was the best thing in my life. The only thing I'd change was trying harder to give him children. It wasn't so much on his end, he was always willing to fool around, or just hold me all night long, but I've always felt there must have been something I could have done to give him a child. He deserved children; after all he had done for me, though he'd deny it. There was once, right after our wedding, when I was certain I was pregnant, but my body aborted it before I could have been sure, I was still too weak to have children. I didn't share my despair with Angel.

I made it a whole year without cancerous cells in my body. And then it was a year and a half, and the marker of five years cancer free was looking so close and bright on the horizon. I was sure I would make it.

I went in for my usual six-week spinal tap and chemo dosage in June, and I was only expecting the usual call, when they called to tell me they hadn't found any cancer in my body. But they called and asked that I came down to meet with them. I didn't tell Angel, I went while he was at work. I had always gone by myself to the six week check ins, I didn't want to bother him, he was so sure we had made it, and that we'd be able to have a normal life after I was released.

They told me that they have found some traces of cancerous cells in the cerebrospinal fluid they had removed from my spine. They wanted to run blood tests, and in a daze I gave it to them. I didn't even feel it anymore, when they stuck needles into my veins and drew blood. My arms had tracts where they had stuck needles in me while I was in ICU, and forever after I was careful to wear long sleeved shirts, in case anybody took them for something else.

They called two days later while Angel was at work, with the results. The cancer was back, and I was about a month pregnant.

I never told Angel about the son or daughter he would have had, he was so choked up about me having to go back into the hospital, he wouldn't look at me without breaking down for days. He didn't sleep, just paced through the rooms, like a ghost. I never thought I'd have to sleep alone again, and it was so cold without his heat beside me.

I returned to the hospital as a patient a week after my tests. They wanted to try me on some more potent chemo, but within the first month, it was obvious it wasn't working. But first I had to abort my pregnancy; there was no way it would come to any normal term while I was undergoing therapy. Radiology didn't work either. So, like Carlos, a bone marrow transplant was my only hope. But I knew that I'd make it, because they tested Dawn first, and were shocked that we were a perfect match.

So I went into isolation, which killed Angel and myself. He had to get all gowned up, and could only stay for a short time, not enough time to express how we truly felt about each other. And just to make things worse, because of precautions, he was advised against touching me. I missed him so much during those weeks. Six weeks on drugs that would wipe out my immune system completely, so even a simple cold could kill me. And there was still chemotherapy and radiation to go through, to ensure that my bone marrow was gone for good.

And then Dawn went under the knife, and they removed a good-sized chunk of bone marrow. It was then brought up to my room, where it dripped into my veins through an IV for about three hours. It wasn't done by the time Dawn, still drowsy, came up to check on me. She poked the bag once, making jokes about how now we weren't even blood sisters, we were 'marrow sisters.'

She had to go back down to her room soon after, and then they released her the same day. But the hardest part on me began. Though it was a perfect match, they still didn't know if my body would accept it, which is why they had to knock out my immune system. It tried to reject it about three times, each episode was hell on me, I was burning up so nobody wanted to touch me, and I was delirious, and it was the worst thing I had ever gone through. Each time I came out of it with Angel right by my bed, holding my hand, praying over me. He was my savior in every way.

I thought I was over the whole puking thing, after they had put Dawn's marrow into my body, but it wasn't the case. It was like having the flue for almost a month. And all the blood transfusions and medications…I was a vampire who was a drug addict's paradise!

But after about two months, I was allowed to go home. Angel had to carry me from the car to our bed, where I just lay for weeks, too weak and lethargic to really want to do anything. But we were finally free. There was very little chance of relapse, the doctor had told us before this whole process. A couple times a week, at most, we had to go back to make sure that Dawn's marrow, now mine, was working, and that my body wasn't refusing it. The doctors said that they wouldn't be sure fully for over a year, but the visits became less and less, though I soon started back on my six weeks check up.

The doctor kept telling me I had to get up and out of bed, but it was so hard. For the first week Angel carried me everywhere, like an invalid. He'd draw my bath, pick out my clothes, carry me into the bathroom, help me undress…he did everything for me, never complaining, not even once. He pitied me, the only thing I didn't ever want him to do, but then I pitied myself.

I had lost the will to live.

And we lost something in our marriage. He didn't kiss me like he used to, with the fire and passion and never-ending lust. His kisses were gentle pecks, like he was afraid of breaking me. We never fooled around anymore. He got up, got breakfast, helped me into the kitchen, settled me on the couch, went to work, came home, did housework, cooked supper, helped me back to the couch where we'd watch some tv, then he'd help me to bed. We were both so tired, we'd fall asleep almost instantly.

Three months after I was released that second time, I knew I needed help. I made myself an appointment with a therapist. I talked Andrew into driving me, in no condition to drive myself. After Angel left for work, I got up, dressed myself for once, and was ready when Andrew pulled up.

The therapist, recommended by the hospital for just this sort of thing, was a godsend. She helped me realize that I was distancing myself from everything, especially Angel, because I was afraid of dying. Funny if you think about it, a girl who died twice in four years afraid of dying, but that was the diagnosis.

I kept seeing her, and I started taking walks. First just around the house, and then around the neighborhood. Angel must have known something was different, when I started coming to the table by myself for meals, and returning his kisses with more gusto, but we still didn't do anything, just recovering and going on short walks tired me out. I don't think he really understood the full extent of my turn around until that June, when he came home one day to find the dishes done, the bathroom clean, the laundry done, the house vacuumed, and the bed made. He was so surprised and ecstatic to have his wife back, he actually cried.

I won't go into details, but we didn't get much else done for the rest of the day.

All in all, things got better, and life went on. I had my lover back, and he had his. After six months, I started looking for a job. An office job didn't interest me, and after a month of finding nothing that I was qualified for that interested me, Giles sent us a blessing in disguise. A two-year-old Chinese girl, who was orphaned suddenly, had the gift that would turn into being a slayer, and Giles needed a loving family for her. Yin soon joined our family.

She gave me something to do during the day that a job would have done, and filled most of the hole in Angel's heart where our own children would have been. She came to us knowing no English. What a task that was.

Life went on, without thought of relapse and we got to live as normal people did. Those years were a blessing, and a curse. Yin gave my life purpose once again. She was the daughter that was taken from me by the chemo. Soon she was speaking full sentences, and growing in leaps and bounds.


	7. Part Seven

How Can I Help You Say Goodbye?

Part Seven

Disclaimer: See the first chapter. The song is sung by Laura Branigan, and it seems Patty Loveless.

Posted: February 14, 2005

Author's Notes: I finished this right after Christmas, but I like drawing out my updates, it helps me be able to give something to my readers even when I'm not updating my other stories.

This is the last chapter. For those of you who have been hoping for the best, if you wish to keep it that way, don't read this chapter. Even after writing this, just rereading it, editing it before posting, I'm now crying.

I'd like to thank all the reviewers, and all the wallflowers, who will be named nameless. Twenty four reviews in all, I think a new record for me, lol, I'd like to thank Sarah, Tariq, Buff, Charmed-angel4, Queen Boadicea, IsabelGuerin08, Cendari, General Mac, BuffyAngelFan32, Melanie, Susanna, Kara Weasley, M, anj4eva091403, and dalmatiangrl2 for reviewing! It means a lot. Hopefully, all answers will be answered in this final update. One question may still remain though, Why did I write this? Even I don't know why I torture these characters, maybe I'm just following in Joss's footsteps, dangle happiness, before ripping it away.

Enjoy the last chapter.

* * *

But our happiness wasn't meant to last. The week before Yin went to kindergarten for the first time, I was feeling so lethargic it was a chore just getting out of bed in the morning. I had an appointment for the day after Yin had her first day of school, but I skipped it. I didn't need them poking me with needles and filling me full of drugs.

Angel had stopped asking about my appointments about a year before; he was certain that I was perfectly fine. They called to reschedule, thinking it was an oversight on my part, and I deleted the message. They called again, and I didn't answer.

I felt so childish, but I couldn't go in. I couldn't let them ruin our happiness.

They ended up calling Angel at work, concerned that something was wrong. That got him worrying. He came barging home in the middle of the day, skipped some important meeting, wanting to know why I hadn't gone. I gave him some lame excuse about falling asleep or something, but that didn't explain why I hadn't rescheduled in over a month. I assured him that I was only sick and tired of the affair, and I'd get an appointment for the following week.

The night before my appointment, after we had gone to bed, I stuffed my fist in my mouth so Angel wouldn't hear me cry myself to sleep, but he must have felt my sobs or something, because he rolled over and held me in his arms while I cried.

The next day shattered our happiness. The doctors can admit you, and run millions of tests, tell you that though slimmer, the odds are still good, that you're a vibrant young woman in great health, but they're lying, to you and themselves. It doesn't matter that in my years of remission, Ricky, Beth, Jake, and so many others weren't so lucky. It doesn't matter that so many of the kids I had read to and soothed were dead.

There was nothing the doctors could do for me. Chemo had a slim to none chance of working this time around, and radiology had the same statistics. The bone marrow transplant had been my final choice last time, the cure-all, but it didn't work.

Instead of trying, going through chemo, and radiation, and getting sick, and losing my hair, I opted to go home, and live out the rest of my life with my family. The doctors gave me a year.

That night it was my turn to hold Angel as he cried himself to sleep. But I couldn't cry myself. Not this time. Gone was the self-pity, and I welcomed the calm realization that I only had so long, a year at most. The calm that would allow me to savor these last months, and put my things in order.

I wrote my will out within the following days; Angel's friend Gunn was my witness. Then I began a cleaning spree. I cleaned out the third bedroom, our house meant for a bigger family than ours. My friends flew in from around the world once they heard, and Willow even found a nearby apartment, swearing that she'd stay nearby, no matter what, as long as I needed her.

I asked Dawn to move in with us, and she agreed, feeling somehow responsible for her bone marrow not working as it should. I told her it was only temporary, but I mean for her to stay so much longer. I started grooming her as my replacement. I know that it will be best for Yin and Angel if he would found another woman to love, but I don't think he'd allow himself to.

It took eight months for the cancer to wear me down, and in that time I slowly shrugged off my motherly duties onto Dawn's strong shoulders, and she blossomed under the responsibility. It saddens me to think that I will never get to fully see what she will become. Now that I'm confined to my bed, she's everything I was, she does everything around the house that I used to.

It took a few more months for me to give in and stay in bed, like I was supposed to. Even though I had limited energy, I still wanted to help Dawn with folding laundry, something you don't need a lot of stamina to do. Angel carries me everywhere, and Dawn has put off her veterinary training to learn how to care for me, instead of having some stranger do it.

A month after I no longer had the energy to stand for long periods of time, or any period of time, it was October, they put me on painkillers, as I started to waste away before my family's eyes. We're at the hardest part now, convincing them to let me go. I know I don't make a lot of sense anymore, and I sleep most of the day thanks to the drugs, but when I can I still help my girl do her homework.

It's Christmas Eve. We put up our tree two weeks ago, a real one; Yin, Angel and Dawn decorated while I supervised from the couch. The doctors are surprised that I've made it this long, and they say I've got no more than a week left, with my depleted immune system and the cancer's spread to most of my organs. I just hope I make it through tomorrow.

"Rest now, my love," Angel kisses my forehead tenderly. I nod, and close my eyes. I hear him tip toe from the room, closing the door softly behind him.

"Dawn, thank you so much," he whispers, meeting her in the hall, "I couldn't have gotten through this past year without you."

"Yes, you could have," she touches his arm, "You are both so strong, Angel, you would have made it through somehow."

He pulls her into a bone-crushing hug, and she wraps her arms around him, trying not to cry.

"Get some sleep," Dawn says, "Tomorrow's another long, hard day. But it's Christmas, everyone should be happy on Christmas."

"And Yin will be up bright and early," he almost manages a smile.

She nods as he kisses her forehead in a brotherly manner, "Goodnight," he then tiptoes back into our room.

I know Yin doesn't understand, about her real parents or about me. We've tried to raise her Christian, as much as a woman who thinks religion is freaky and an ex vampire can, and she believes in God, and Jesus, and Heaven. We say grace each night, more so than ever now, and she prays each night before bed. We told her that her real parents were in heaven, with Jesus, and now I was going to meet Jesus soon. I don't think she understands that I'm not ever coming back. Even Angel hasn't totally grasped that.

I allow him to hold me tonight, knowing that though it hurts, it might be our last night together. I know he needs this, he needs to say goodbye, and soon, or he'll never get the chance.

Now I sit on the couch, buried in blankets to ward off the chill in the air, forcing myself to stay awake while Yin plays with the Barbie Dawn picked up for me, and Angel leafs through the scrap book Dawn helped me finish. Willow and Xander are exclaiming over the books that Dawn ordered for me, and Dawn herself is looking through the scrapbook I managed to make for her of our childhood.

Unexpectedly, tears come to my eyes as I watch my family, knowing this is our last Christmas together.

"Why are you crying, Mommy?" the whole room goes silent at her question.

"I'm crying because I have to go meet Jesus soon, but I'm afraid you need me so much more." I pull her onto my lap. If I look up, I know I'll see tears in my friend's eyes.

"Don't worry, we'll be fine. Tell my real mommy and daddy that I love them and miss them, but I also love you and Angel."

"I will, baby, I promise. I love you too."

"Oh," she clambers off my lap, running to her room. "I made this for you in art class," she says when she comes back. She holds out a paper bead necklace for me to take.

"Oh, it's wonderful," I smile at her, "Thank you." Tears slip down my cheeks.

DECEMBER 28- Buffy Ann Summers O'Connor died in her sleep on December 25th at the age of 30, after a five-year battle with Leukemia. A vibrant woman in life, she left behind her husband, Liam O'Connor, an adopted daughter, Yin, a sister, Dawn Summers, and her extended family of friends, Willow Rosenberg, Rupert Giles, and Xander Harris. She will be sorely missed, but will forever live on in the minds of her friends.

Visiting Hours will be held at Swanson's Funeral Home from 2 to 6 on January 2nd, and her funeral will be next Monday, January 3rd.

Dawn tucked the obituary she had helped Angel write into the last page of the scrapbook, her eyes brimming with tears. The house still smelled of pine from the Christmas tree, now forlornly sitting in the corner of the living room. Flowers sat in bowls and vases on every surface.

"There, now when my children ask about their aunt, or Yin asks about her Mom, they'll know her," she said, fighting tears.

The scrap book, tenderly put together, started with the birth certificate from LA Regional Hospital and the birth announcement, and the remaining pages were filled with frozen memories, her 5th grade diploma, her Citizenship Award from 7th grade, photos of friends and family following up until the year before she got sick. There was about a year's gap, until the wedding photos; she hadn't wanted anyone to remember her as sick.

Dawn flipped through the pages, as something Buffy once said to her came back.

_"It's gonna be okay, Dawnie, we'll make it through. Xander says country is the music of pain, and he played this song for me…How can I help you say goodbye to Mom, Dawnie? What can I do to ease the pain? How can I help you say goodbye?"_

_Mama whispered softly, Time will ease your pain_

_Life's about changing, nothing ever stays the same_

_**And she said, "how can I help you to say goodbye?**_

_**It's okay to hurt, and it's okay to cry**_

_**Come, let me hold you and I will try**_

_**How can I help you to say goodbye?"**_

_How can I help you to say goodbye?_


End file.
